


The End of the Beginning

by rei_c



Series: Stiles Stilinski: Vongola Sky [15]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Heartbreak, Protective Xanxus (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Sky Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-20 11:11:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: His last morning in Italy passes by Stiles in something of a haze.





	The End of the Beginning

Stiles takes Hebe and Peter with him to breakfast. The Ninth glances at Stiles' hand, takes note of his bare fingers, and nods to himself before reaching for his espresso. Peter pours coffee, Hebe rolls up a piece of prosciutto around a chunk of mozzarella, and Stiles sits back in his chair, stares blankly at the plate in front of him. 

"When?" Timoteo asks. 

"This morning," Stiles replies. "Early." 

Timoteo hums, scans the front page of _la Repubblica_. "There will be an abundance of clouds converging on Beacon Hills," he says. "Keep them all under control, nephew, while you're searching for a new one." 

Stiles gives his uncle a tight smile. "They'll stay in line or rejection will be the least of their concerns. Excuse me," and he stands up. "I'm going to go pack." Peter and Hebe both move to follow but Stiles waves them off, leaves the dining room. There's nothing to pack -- that was finished yesterday and handled, for the most part, by the staff -- but it serves as a convenient excuse and Stiles can at least take the opportunity to organise the things he's taking on the plane: laptop; secure cell phone; one of Vongola Settimo's journals; some paperwork for the alliance negotiations they're holding with three of the largest 'wolf packs in Italy; the letters he's been exchanging with the Cìnniri family and the rough draft of the one he's in the middle of writing to them. 

He gets to the suite and stops in the doorway, scans Erica and bites back the guilt at what he sees. She looks about as bad as he feels: her eyes all puffy and red-rimmed, lips bitten raw, skin pale. His instant reaction is to reach out, to run his flames through her and ask who he needs to kill, but -- but he stops himself. He's the one who did this to her, who forced the issue, and even if she never forgives him for it, it's for the best. 

"I came to pack up my stuff," she says. "I -- do I need to find another way home?" 

"The plane's big enough for all of us," Stiles replies. "The staff packed yesterday; your bags are with ours. Do you need me to get them for you? Pull anything out of them?" 

It feels awkward, the way things haven't been in ages, since before Erica was bitten. It's like they're strangers again, nothing of the pack between them, nothing of the nights of whispering and the days of learning Italy together, nothing of the Argent basement where everything both went to shit and turned out better than Stiles ever hoped. 

Erica swallows, shakes her head. "I'll be fine. Still leaving at eight?" 

Stiles nods, leaves his suite without looking back. 

\--

At something of a loss, he goes outside, sits on the front step surrounded by the scent of oranges, the sweet late-summer wind bringing in the aroma of olive trees and lemon groves from farther away. He knew that breaking the bond would hurt, even imagined it would feel something like this, but imagining it and actually living through it are two very different things. Everything inside of him hurts, his head is throbbing like he's in the middle of the worst migraine of his life, and his lungs are tight, a moment away from seizing up around all the breath he isn't breathing. Still, it's not as bad as the moments immediately following his mother's death. Nothing could ever feel as bad as that. 

He's never really gotten over his mom getting sick, being hospitalised, dying. The scabs formed after the funeral were barely strong enough to hold, broke open every so often, bled sometimes before attempting to heal over again, but activating a flame, coming to Italy, meeting his uncle -- they all cracked those wounds wide and raw again. He sees his mother in his uncle, hears her words coming out of Xanxus' mouth, has read his grandmother's journals and now has those thoughts to tell him what his mom was like as a child, how she grew up and became the woman she did, where she learned how to love and rage and cry. He's never felt closer to his mother, nor ever felt further away. 

Signorina Claudia -- that's what everyone here calls her, that's how everyone here remembers her. They say that he has her eyes and her heart and her smile, that he looks more and more like her as his hair grows longer and his skin gets more and more tan, and he -- it hurts. It hurts, inside, that she's not here with him. It hurts that he's going to go back to Beacon Hills and the home that she made there. It hurts that he's going to eventually come back to Italy and feel the faint flame-impressions of her in a house that will be his at the same time it won't ever, _truly_ , be his. 

It just hurts. All of it. And now he has the hurt of his broken bond with Erica on top of that. 

\--

Stiles doesn't know how long he's sitting on the steps, bodyguards and security staff lurking out of sight but still close enough to feel, rainbow of flames pressing comfortingly at the edges of his sky, before Xanxus arrives. He doesn't even notice the fleet of SUVs parking, isn't really aware of anything until Xanxus sits down next to him and presses his thigh to Stiles'. 

"She did it, then?" Xanxus asks. 

"This morning," Stiles says. 

Xanxus snorts, says, "I almost can't believe it. What did --" before shaking his head. "It's not important. I'm sending half a dozen clouds that might prove compatible enough for harmonisation. There are two more in Beacon Hills that are going to stay in hopes of a courtship as well. The Ninth is sending some?" 

"A handful," Stiles says. 

The two descend into companionable silence for a few minutes before Xanxus reaches to his side, pulls a case across his lap. Stiles looks over, watches as Xanxus clicks open the case, can't help the sound of surprise when he sees the guns inside. 

"You'll have to train with them," Xanxus says. "Get a feel for how they handle your flame. But they're yours, cousin. Try to keep them with you, especially when your guardians aren't." He clicks the case closed, passes it over. 

Stiles sets the case on his knees, leans and rests his cheek on Xanxus' shoulder, says, "Thank you," softly. He knows how viciously protective Xanxus is of his X-Guns and Xanxus passing that secret over to him, passing that _gift_ over to him, goes a long way towards soothing the pain bubbling inside. 

Xanxus snorts, says, "Don't think you're special," even though they both know that he is, simply because Xanxus made those guns for him. Stiles leans up a little, curious to see where Xanxus goes with this, and Xanxus says, "We've prepared other weapons for Hebe and Peter. Guns and knives, mostly, but some low-level grenades and bombs, a couple different crossbows, some snares and traps. A couple of the Varia going with you are good instructors; I know Peter's already deadly but it never hurts to have a few unexpected tricks." 

"You're going to visit, right?" Stiles asks, after a moment. 

Xanxus elbows Stiles. "Try to keep me away." 

\--

The two of them sit there -- Xanxus leaning back, Stiles with his eyes closed and face tilted up towards the sun -- until other people start congregating on the front steps. A few of them are there to see Stiles and his guardians off, but most of them will be going with him back to Beacon Hills. Erica emerges from the house about ten minutes before the hour; she sticks to the edges of the crowd, glare on her face to stop anyone from trying to engage her in conversation. Peter and Hebe come out with their travel gear and Stiles' backpack a few minutes later, and both of them ignore Erica but say hi to Xanxus. Stiles takes his backpack, checks his watch, and when it's eight, he looks to the doorway and his uncle, standing there with his arms crossed on his chest. 

"Travel safe, Decimo," Timoteo says. "Come back with a full set of guardians." 

"I'll do my best, Nono," Stiles says. He nods at his uncle, eyes dipping in respect, then turns, takes a deep breath as he heads down the steps, towards the SUVs and the first step of his journey back to Beacon Hills.


End file.
